Broken
by DeliciousNewYork
Summary: Draco is tortured by his own father because of his failure to kill Dumbledore. Finally he is rescued but unable to speak and he only remembers his brutal confinement. Will Draco ever get out of Darkness? violence, torture, rape, etc.
1. Chapter 1

These characters are not mine. Except for the executioner.

Draco Malfoy wiped the blood dripping down his chin. The dark figure towering over him could have easily stopped the flow from his broken nose but chose to watch instead. The bloody mess of cartilage that was once his nose should have hurt him. But he felt worse pain in the last few weeks than he ever had in his entire life. A broken nose was nothing.

"Get up," the dark figure commanded with a sneer. He had knocked Draco to the floor. This happened often, ever since Draco's failure at Hogwarts. Dumbledore was dead but not by his hands, and he needed to be punished. Draco knew he was weak, and his father was only trying to help him. He was too soft right now; Lord Voldemort would have no use for a weakling.

He got to his feet, and his father backhanded him across the face, knocking him to the floor once again.

"_Crucio_."

Draco's bones were on fire, if he had a voice left, he would have screamed. But the torture he had endured already tore the screams from his throat, and now he suffered in silent agony. This was the worst part of his punishment. With the beatings, the pain would stop. He even could get used to it, absorb it into himself. This pain never stopped. His father broke off the curse, and he still felt the pain coursing through him. The more a person is tortured by the Cruciatus Curse, the more it hurts.

Draco lay on the floor, breathing heavily, trying to slow down the rapid beating of his heart.

"We'll continue this tomorrow. Wash yourself."

Draco nodded and slowly got to his feet. His father painfully healed his broken nose, intending even that process to be a teaching tool, before exiting the cell.

Draco went to the bucket of freezing water and began to wash his face. The blood had dripped down onto his already blood-stained shirt. His hands were shaking, and not from the icy water.

He lay down on his cot and stared at the dungeon's ceiling, not knowing if he would be awoken in the middle of the night to receive his punishment. It had happened before, but if he was awake, he could not have nightmares. Maybe tonight he would be too tired to have any. He slept, but the nightmares came anyway.

When Draco was awake again, he kept his eyes closed and pretended to still sleep. He knew he was not alone.

"I know you are not sleeping, Draco." The voice was as cold as death. He shuddered when he heard the way it almost caressed his name. Draco opened his eyes, and the Dark Lord himself was staring down at him, a faint smile on his lips.

"You failed me Draco. But I am a most forgiving master, and I will be giving you another chance to prove yourself to me. Fail again, and you will find a whole new meaning of pain."

Draco knew what was expected of him. He got up, and immediately got on his knees, crawled forward, and kissed the hem of Lord Voldemort's robe. He stayed low on his knees, face to the floor, until his master had left.

He did not have long to ponder his visitor. His father entered his cell seconds later.

"Don't think that you will get off easy today. The Dark Lord believes you still need some 'motivation'"

Draco tried to brace himself for what was coming. There was no way he could have predicted the direction his father went in now. He did not bother with his wand this time. Draco thought nothing could be worse than the Cruciatus Curse, but he was wrong.

The crack of each finger being broken resounded in the small chamber. They were not healed by magic. Each joint was twisted and bent in directions the human body does not allow them to go. By the time Lucius finished distorting and mangling his son's hands, a slight smile of pleasure was ghosting his lips.

Tears were streaming down Draco's face. He waited for magic to course through his body to fix his hands. He stared down at them; his warped fingers were black and blue, swollen to twice their normal size.

His father laughed at Draco's obvious confusion

"Those fingers will heal in their own time. You need a lasting reminder of your failure."

A lasting reminder it would be. Every time Draco used his wand, he would see his mangled hands.

His hands were left in their broken state until the next day, when a woman entered his cell. She was one of the few female death eaters in Voldemort's inner circle. Most death eaters had wives who knew of their husband's activities, but few participated directly.

She was beautiful with long blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. She was special. She was an executioner. If a death eater needed to die in a painful manner, she was the one who took care of it. Seeing her in his cell put Draco into a panic, for why else would she be here except to kill him.

She noticed his fear and said, "I'm not here to kill you. I have other talents as well." She proceeded to twist his fingers so his joints were lined up correctly. His fingers would heal on their own, but they would never be the same.

After his fingers were in place, she left, and Draco let out the breath he hadn't realized he was holding. His father entered next and threw clean clothes at him before exiting.

Draco stared at the long black robe and mask he held in his hands. He would be getting the Dark Mark tonight.


	2. Chapter 2

I do not own any of these characters.

Draco stared out the window. It had been weeks since he had seen the sun. The day was so bright, the sky was blue, and not a cloud could be seen. From the way the trees were moving, a gentle breeze was blowing. He longed to feel the wind on his face. He sighed. At least he was clean now, and was no longer wearing the clothes he had been bleeding in for weeks. He looked down at his hands. They still hurt, but the swelling had gone down. He knew his fingers would stay in their mangled state. Perhaps a natural healer would have been able to fix them, but a natural healer would never fix the hands of a death eater.

_I'm getting my mark tonight_, Draco thought with a slight shudder. He knew this day was coming, and for the longest time he wanted it to come. Now he was not so sure. His entire life, he longed to be like his father, powerful and feared. However, the last few weeks taught him his father's power was meaningless, and only worked through fear. No one served Lucius Malfoy out of respect, and that was why he hesitated in killing Dumbledore. He knew that people served Dumbledore because they believed in his cause. Draco was going to dedicate his life to Voldemort out of fear.

"Draco, you have until sundown for reflection. Think about your failures, and how you can make them up to the Dark Lord," his mother told him in a high-pitched voice. She was so proud of him, finally coming into his birth right.

He wanted so badly to go outside. For some reason the pull of the light was too great. He was cold, so cold. He nodded to his mother, and walked away.

Avoiding being seen, he walked out into the sun. Warmth immediately seeped into him as he wandered over the extensive Malfoy grounds. He lay in the perfectly manicured grass, closed his eyes, and for the first time in months, slept without nightmares.

He awoke shivering. The sun had set and he was alone in the darkness. The ritual! He hoped he was not going to be late and rushed back to the house. It was even colder inside, and he made his way back to the dungeons where he had spent so much time.

He heard a scream split the air, and began to walk more quickly to the source of the sound. It was coming from another cell close to the one where he had spent so much of his time. He cautiously peered in. His father was in the cell with a young woman. She was screaming as the Cruciatus curse tore through her slight body.

Lucius cut the curse off as he realized his son was behind him. Draco felt fear consume him as he looked into his father's eyes. It was obvious his father was enjoying the pain he was giving to the muggle; he looked almost…aroused. He knew his father was fond of finding lonely young women to torture, but he had never actually seen it before.

Lucius smiled and in a cool voice said, "Would you like to try, son?" Draco didn't move, and couldn't speak.

"It's alright, I've just started with her; you won't kill her, yet."

_Yet, what does he mean yet?_ Draco thought in a panic. _I don't want to kill_! The thought was unexpected. Since when did he balk at killing a mudblood? He had to force his mind to use the word. What was wrong with him?

His father suddenly winced and grabbed at his forearm. The dark mark was burning, and Voldemort was calling his supporters to him.

"Draco, it's time."

Draco nodded and turned to leave the room. Green light flared behind him, and the woman didn't even have time to scream before her life was ended in an instant.

Minutes later Draco was standing among a few of his peers who would be receiving their mark as well. He stood between Crabbe and Goyle, a familiar position, but now one that left him feeling anxious. All death eaters were present, having apparated to this secret meeting place. Only Voldemort knew where it was. His supporters went to him, wherever he was and did not need to know the exact location.

He watched as one by one the young men went to get their brand. He watched as they said their vow, cutting into the spot where the mark would be to seal in blood. The blood dripped into a goblet and Draco knew Voldemort would drink after all vows were said.

Crabbe went, stumbling over his vow. Goyle went next. Draco was last. Sweat began pouring down his back. He was scared; scared of the life he would be entering into. He remembered the woman who was now lying dead in his house, and became sick to his stomach. His head began to pound. Goyle was finishing his oath, blood flowing from the wound on his left forearm.

Draco walked forward, each echoing step spelling out his doom. He stopped in front of the Dark Lord, rolled his sleeve up, and sliced his forearm open. The blood of those who went before him still stained the Kris dagger. The wavy blade shimmered with blood.

Draco started to recite the oath all death eaters must swear, but no sound came out. His voice was not working. Fear flooded him; he felt it in his very soul. If he couldn't speak, he couldn't say the oath. If he didn't swear to the oath, he would die. Becoming a death eater was the only way Draco could prove his loyalty. He tried harder to speak, but it was to no avail. Suddenly he was thrown to the ground. He looked into his father's livid eyes and tried to explain with frantic gestures that he just couldn't speak. It was no use. His father picked his head up by the hair, and slammed his skull onto the floor. Everything went black.

When he came around, he was laying on his cell floor. He was no longer wearing the soft black robe of the ceremony, and the cold from the stones seeped into his bare skin. Blood still matted his blonde hair. He slowly got to his feet. The cot and blanket previously in the room could not be seen.

His cell door opened and his father slowly stepped in, banging the door behind him.

"You embarrassed me tonight Draco. You failed your family. The Dark Lord has been gracious enough to give you yet another chance. He feels you have not learned you lesson well enough. Apparently I am not the best teacher for you, so the Dark Lord has assigned a new tutor for you. Learn your lesson well Draco, there is no escape from the Dark Lord."

His father opened the door and let a cloaked figure in before leaving. A hood was lowered, and the executioner stood before him. She wasn't smiling. She never smiled. She did her job because she was good at it, not because she enjoyed it. It was actually refreshing to have someone torture him and not get pleasure out of it.

The executioner dropped a bag on the floor and removed her cloak, tossing it to the floor. With a wave of her wand, chains fell from the ceiling. Knowing what was expected of him, Draco lifted his arms, and the manacles snaked around his wrists. Abruptly, the chains tightened, and he needed to stand on his toes in order to reach the ground.

The executioner began her gruesome work, hurting him with magic, and often without. The chains cut into his wrists, blood streamed down his arms. His wrists were not the only place on his body blood flowed. The executioner used a strange combination of medieval muggle torture and magic to cause more pain than his father ever had. Tears streamed down his face.

"Would you like me to stop? Just say please."

Draco couldn't say "please" even though he wanted nothing more than this pain to stop. He couldn't utter a sound, not even a scream.


	3. Chapter 3

**I do not own any of these characters. I'm just borrowing. Except the executioner. **

**Warning: this gets intense. Rape, beatings, torture.**

Draco lost his concept of time. In his windowless cell he could not tell if it was day or night. He did not know if days passed, or merely hours. He never got enough to eat, and he never had a full nights sleep. Sometimes when he tried to sleep, the executioner would wake him and begin his punishment. He would slowly drift to sleep from sheer exhaustion, and his fear of what could happen would cause some of the most violent and horrific nightmares he had ever experienced.

Draco lay on the stone floor, staring at the chains hanging from the ceiling above him. The shackles were caked in his blood. He wondered if she would come tonight. The pain she gave him was awful, but sometimes it was better than the unbearable agony of waiting.

He heard footsteps coming closer to his cell. _She never makes any noise_, Draco thought in wonder. He heard the muttering of the incantation that would open the door, it was a man's voice, and not one he recognized.

The door opened, but it was so dark without and within, that Draco could see nothing of his new "visitor." Draco lay still, wondering if the man would assume he was asleep.

"I know you are not asleep. Your breathing patterns give you away."

The voice triggered something in Draco's mind. He felt he should no who this person was. Draco opened his eyes, but still could see nothing in the absolute darkness that was always present.

"Time for a little fun, Drakey."

The pet name sent shivers down Draco's spine. The man who had been lusting for him ever since Draco hit puberty was now hovering over his naked, bloody body.

"I've heard your father's conversations, how you won't, or can't, scream. You are not going to be able to tell anyone." The man let out a cruel laugh and began to unzip his trousers.

After he left, Draco dragged himself to a corner. Tears streamed down his face, and he was shivering uncontrollably.

_Rough hands grabbing his arms._

Draco tried to push the memory away.

_The feel of the cold stone floor on his stomach, and the sickening heat on his back. _

Draco vomited but still could not push the memory from him.

_Pain ripping through him. Suffering in silence. _

Draco was shaking even more now. The blood running down his thighs was beginning to cool, drying to rust red.

_The man above him breathing heavily, kissing the back of his neck with mock gentility. Hands all over him, flipping him over. Tears, blood, sweat. More probing hands._

Draco wrapped his arms around himself. It would be wonderful to scream, to let his pain and anger resound throughout the dungeons.

_On his stomach again, the sharp edge of an uneven stone jabs into his chest, right where his heart would be. Ripping pain a second time. No gentle gestures this time. The intense pain stops, but does not fade. The nauseating heat leaves his back. The cell door opens, and then slams shut._

The memory of the pain and humiliation floods Draco's mind over and over again. The pain was not as bad as some of the things the executioner had done, but for some reason, this hurt more.

Draco realized it was probably night. Too bad he couldn't sleep.

Hours later (or was it only minutes), the door opened again. This time he heard no footsteps, and no voice opening the door. It was the executioner. She looked down at him, but did not show any pity.

"I know what was done to you. It was not on my orders or the orders of your father."

Draco allowed himself to hope. Perhaps they would make it stop. After all, that _man_ was not following his father's orders.

"…but I will allow it to continue."

Draco's heart sank. She must have known she could never hurt him in the way _he _could. The executioner got to her knees to whisper in his ear, "Never fail the Dark Lord, Draco," she paused, "you stink."

The thought of being clean almost made Draco cry in thanks, but even this would be torture. The freezing water turned his pale skin blue. The executioner would hold him under until he almost lost consciousness. At times, he would swallow too much, and she would need to revive him with what she liked to call the "Kiss of Life," and get the water out of his lungs.

She left him in his cell. Wet, naked, and shivering, Draco still marveled at how he was still alive. How much could the human body bear?

His visitor came again. This time, he was softer, even gentle as he caressed Draco's bare skin. Draco was on his back, the same jagged stone digging into him. The man touched every inch of Draco's shivering body. He touched with his hands, his lips, his tongue.

"You're clean. I like that," the man whispered. Draco felt the bile rising in his throat. The man's breath was coming in quick gasps. Suddenly, his grip on Draco's arms tightened, and he savagely turned Draco onto his stomach.

Again, the man probed Draco's body, but this time, there was no pretense of gentleness. The man was breathing hard now, and again, Draco's body felt like it was being ripped in two.


	4. Chapter 4

**I'll bet you don't know what I'm gonna say first! I don't own these characters, I just use and abuse them. except the executioner, she's mine. Anyways...here's chapter four. It went in a very different direction than I was planning. oh well.**

Hours turned to days and days to weeks as Draco languished in his cell. He could no longer remember a time when pain was not a part of his life. He began to forget everything about himself. Eventually, the only thing he could remember was his duty, his duty to his father and to the Dark Lord. He still could not speak.

His only visitors were the executioner and his nighttime "lover." The only good thing about his visits was Draco knew it was night. The executioner tried to leave him disoriented, but this was one thing she could not stop. Even so, he was losing his mind.

His torture developed a sort of routine for him. The executioner never came at the same time, but the way his days began to blend together made it impossible for her to startle him any longer. He slowly started slipping away. When she was torturing him, or when _he_ was hurting him, Draco would sink deep inside himself. Sometimes he would go into so deep a trance it would be several days before he awoke.

Then one night, as he lay awake waiting for _him _to come, screams and curses shattered the silence. Draco dragged himself into a corner and curled into a ball.

A multitude of footsteps were coming ever closer to his cell. Tears began to fall down his face. He hadn't cried in days his body was so numb to pain. But he had no idea what was coming, getting closer! He was afraid.

He heard the doors of the cells around him being flung open. Underneath the crack of the door he saw the bright lights of spells, red for stunning and green for killing. Finally, his door was blasted in, and Draco tried to make himself even smaller.

The hallway was lit, and the figure in the doorway could not be identified. The lights behind the shadowy figure made it impossible for Draco to see a face.

"Malfoy?" the figure said in a horrified whisper. Vague memories came flooding back to Draco. The voice was familiar to him, and not as one he would trust. He just couldn't place it. Draco turned his face to the corner as violent sobs shook his entire body with absolutely no sound.

The figure at the door swore and called down the hallway. Draco was no longer listening; he did not want to look into the face of another tormentor. The tears stopped, but now he was shaking uncontrollably again. He had begun to get used to his torment, and now his father was adding something else.

He was startled by someone draping a cloak over his shoulders. Draco did not realize how much he missed wearing clothes, but he knew this was only a trick. He would begin to think his torture was over, only to have it begin again. He tried to let out a laugh, but of course, no sound came out. Only a deranged smile lit his face.

The person who settled the cloak on his shoulders recoiled at the look on Draco's face, but Draco didn't care.

More people entered the cell, but Draco took no notice of them. He was slipping away into his mind. He began to think all of this was a dream.

"Hold this under his nose, it will make him sleep and then we can move him." A bottle was handed to the one who first entered. Draco heard the comment and tried desperately to not inhale whatever potion that was in front of him. It was no use. He drifted off into a dreamless sleep, the first real sleep he had gotten in two months.

Draco awoke but could not open his eyes. He heard voices and began to listen to them when he realized he was the subject matter.

"…haven't seen the worst of it yet. It's like that over his entire body."

"Why would that happen to Malfoy though, I mean he's a bloody death eater!"

"He doesn't have the mark," retorted the first voice. It seemed higher than the second.

The two continued bickering, but Draco could no longer concentrate. He began to drift back into oblivion but was startled back into awareness when he realized he was lying on a bed and the sun was on his face. He desperately tried to open his eyes; he longed to see what light looked like. But it was to no avail, as they stayed determinedly closed.

Tired from the struggle, Draco allowed himself to relax and fall back asleep.

When he next awoke, he could open his eyes. It was night, and so dark he thought he was back in his cell, and the warm bed was only a tantalizing dream. It was then he realized he was still in that very same bed. He almost wept for joy.

He slowly sat up, and was relieved to see he was clad in striped blue and white pajamas. However, he could still see his hands. While they no longer were swollen and did not hurt anymore, they remained twisted and mangled.

He looked around the room he was in. Five other beds were in the same room, and all of them were filled with patients who looked as Draco felt, beaten down and afraid. They looked this way in their sleep, for Draco was the only one awake.

Draco pushed the blankets from him and swung his legs to the side. He sat on the edge of the bed for a long time, wondering if he would get in trouble for moving. This thought sent him into a panic. He had felt so safe, but what if this was just a cruel trick to lead him into a false sense of security. Then there would be even more reason to punish him. Not only was he a failure, but he could not abide by the rules.

He shakily put himself back into bed and tried to get hid body exactly the way it was before he woke up. They would know if he moved. He was not allowed to move, the executioner had told him on a number of occasions…

"_Draco, I'm going to leave you now. I don't know when I'll be back, but you are not to move from this spot. I will know if you moved."_

_Draco could only nod. He was standing in the center of his cell, arms hung loosely at his sides. He had no intention of moving. He was standing for an hour when he heard the door creak open. Draco broke out in a cold sweat. He could smell the man, his sweat and lust mingling into a repulsive scent that made Draco almost vomit._

"_Was my sweet Drakey waiting for me?" the man asked with feigned sweetness. Draco shuddered. Usually at this point he would back into a corner, but he could not move. She told him not to move. The man began circling him, licking his lips, and enjoying the fact that Draco was on display. Draco shuddered as he moved closer. Cold fingers began to caress his mangled body. The executioner did not fix him yet. Cuts where she scraped her burning wand across hurt even more as his rapist pressed his fingers into them._

_In the end, Draco did move from his spot. He ended up on the floor, his attacker giggling as he slid into Draco's already broken body. He was gentle this time after he was done, kissing Draco and telling him he was beautiful. Draco always thought he had a wonderful physique, but now the compliment made him want to vomit. Draco lay on the floor after he left and that was how the executioner found him. _

_She was not pleased he moved_

Draco woke with a start. He had not realized he had fallen asleep. The sun was starting to rise. It was beautiful. He got up onto his elbows to get a better view.

He heard voices coming from down the hall. He strained to listen, but only got a few snippets.

"…don't think he really would want to see you right now. I mean, you guys did pretty much hate each other."

"Yeah, I guess he did always hate the 'famous Harry Potter.'"

Draco was confused. _Who the fuck is Harry Potter? _

**Umm...Review please. That would be just fantastic. **


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I do not own any characters from Harry Potter, blah, blah, blah.**

**This chapter will be less intense than previous ones, but a secret will be revealed. Ooooooh!**

**Enjoy.

* * *

**

_Why would I hate someone I've never met?_ Draco wondered, confused at the conversation he was eavesdropping on. He heard a female voice tell someone not to see him, and that someone said it was because Draco hated "Harry Potter." It made no sense.

The footsteps were getting closer to his room. He closed his eyes, pretending to be asleep, hoping the footsteps were not coming to him. He hated the sound of footsteps. Footsteps meant _he_ was coming, and _his _coming was always full of pain and humiliation.

The door slowly opened, the light from the hallway fell across Draco's face.

"Harry, don't," a voice cautioned to the person at the door. Draco hadn't wanted to move, but curiosity got the better of him. He wanted to see this person he hated so much. What he saw was a tall, skinny boy with black hair and glasses.

The black haired boy smiled slightly when he saw Draco was awake. Draco felt fear consume him. He started to shake. The boy saw this, and immediately got a strange look on his face. Draco was confused by this look; he couldn't remember anyone looking at him like that. Draco didn't know this look was one of pity intermingled with sadness. No one had ever been sad for him before, so he had nothing to compare it to.

The boy, _Harry_, Draco reminded himself, came towards the bed, asking, "Is everything okay?" Draco couldn't imagine that hatred existed between the two of them. Draco knew what hate was, and he knew who he hated, and this boy certainly couldn't be on his list. However, Draco was still wary of him, as he had no idea what these people wanted from him.

"Harry, I think you should just leave now. He probably needs more rest."

"Hermione, I'm sure he's fine. A little talking won't hurt him."

"In case you've forgotten, he hasn't said a word since he got here. And you don't know that he is fine. You didn't seem him when I found him."

Draco was starting to get upset that they would talk about him as if he wasn't here, but he didn't want to show it. Showing what he felt was a bad thing to do. Both his tormentors taught him that.

"_Drakey, you don't look pleased to see me!"_

Draco tried to push the memory out. He started sweating and breathing heavily, trying to contain the memory deep in himself.

"_Draco, I know this is hurting you, but the sight of your tears is making me uncomfortable, so stop your crying."_

Draco wanted to cry now, but he couldn't. No one cared if he was upset, they didn't want to see it. The two had been arguing softly, ignoring the internal struggle Draco was going through.

"_Drakey, I always look forward to our time together, and now you're acting like you don't want me here! I'm very sad Draco. You should never make me sad."_

Even thought _he_ wasn't in the room, Draco could feel what had been done to him. He to shake violently and tears fell even though he tried to stop them. Draco was distantly aware the arguing had stopped, but he was too lost in his memories to care. He was slipping deeper and deeper into his pain, thrashing on his bed, his mouth open as if to scream, but as always, no sound came out.

And them a pair of arms was around him, holding him close. Draco couldn't remember the last time he was touched without pain. At first he was scared. _He _sometimes held him before hurting him, but this was different. He clutched at the person holding him, not caring who it was. He only knew that his pain was leaving him, and he could escape from his haunting memories.

The person lowered him onto his bed, telling him everything was going to be okay. Draco drifted off to sleep.

When he awoke, a kindly looking woman was smiling down at him. He felt safe in her presence. He looked around the room, and was startled to see they were the only two people.

"The other patients have recovered in record time, and have been moved from the hospital wing," the woman answered as if answering his thought.

"Draco, my name is Minerva McGonagall. Do you know who I am?"

Draco shook his head. Was he supposed to?

"I see. Draco, we are at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Do you know what that is? I see it sounds familiar, but you are unsure. Do you know what a wizard is Draco?"

Draco nodded, of course he knew what a wizard was. After all, he was one and so was his father and so was Voldemort.

"Draco, I'm going to give you some parchment and a quill, so I can ask you some questions that do not have yes or no answers." She put a small table over his lap so he could write upon the parchment lying on top.

"Draco, where were you for the past two months?"

Draco wrote _at my father's house. In his dungeons._

"Do you know why you were there?"

_I had to be punished._

"Punished for what, Draco?"

_I was bad._

"What did you do that mad you bad?"

Draco hesitated. He couldn't remember. He only knew that he was a failure, and failure merited punishment.

_I was bad. That's all there was._

"Do you know what the Dark Mark is?" Draco nodded. "Why don't you have one?"

_I couldn't say my vow._

"When was the last time you remember speaking?"

Again Draco paused. He couldn't remember ever speaking.

_I don't know. I only know that I was bad, and needed to be punished._

"Alright Draco, you look hungry, so I'll only ask one more question for today. Are you a supporter of Voldemort?"

_I'm supposed to be._

"Do you want to follow him?"

_No. But I have to. They'll hurt me if I don't._

"Draco, there is no need to worry. If you don't want to support him, we can protect you here. Do you understand?" Draco nodded, even thought he didn't believe her. No one could protect him. She smiled and left.

Draco was tired of staying in this room, in this bed. He wanted to leave so desperately. He slowly got out, and noticed some jeans and a t-shirt lying on a chair next to his bed. With some reservations, he quickly stripped off the pajamas and got into the clothes. He didn't have any shoes though.

His walk just to the door took forever, as his body was stiff from being in one attitude for so long. He opened the door, relieved it was unlocked.

Draco slowly wandered around the huge castle he found himself in. It looked familiar. There was something odd about it though. For some reason, the place felt too quiet. He heard voices, and was drawn to them to escape the silent and empty corridors. He found himself in a dungeon

_The damp and dank pathway to his cell stifled his breathing. His father was holding on to his arm, roughly pulling him along before stopping and violently pushing him into a cell._

Again, Draco was plagued my memories. This place was not that place, but he still felt like he was walking towards his doom. But he could not stop. He craved to be near the voices. He moved on, but at times he could not tell reality from memory.

The voices were getting louder, and Draco could distinguish between them now. He recognized the two from his room, and even the woman who questioned him. Then another voice spoke, and this voice sent Draco into a cold sweat. He felt fear course through him, entering into his very soul. The voice was pleading.

Draco was intrigued. The man who had tormented him for so long was pleading. Draco was right outside the room where his tormentor was held. Draco peeked through the slightly ajar door, and found his tormentor tied to a chair pleading with the boy from before. _It's Harry,_ Draco reminded himself, awed that the boy could produce such fear into the man's hateful eyes. The eyes turned to him, and Draco gasped in fear.

Harry turned around, startled by the noise.

"Draco, would you like to come in?"

Draco wanted nothing more than to run back to his bed, but he could see the laughter in the eyes of the disgusting creature seated before him. Draco was not about to let this man get the better of him.

Draco slowly walked into the room, hoping his fear was not showing in his face.

"Drakey, did you miss me?" The man cackled. He laughed even harder when Draco recoiled.

"Harry, did Drakey tell you of our time together. We had so much fun, I could tell you about that too. Along with Voldemort's plans. I could tell you of all the times I went into pretty Drakey's cell and fucked him so hard he would pass out. Or when he would wake up, and the whole process would start again, only this time I wou…" His words were cut short by Harry's hand smacking him across the face.

"Shut up, Wormtail."

Peter Pettigrew began to speak again, but this time, he was cut short by a silencing spell. The caster was a girl standing in the corner, and she was shaking in anger.

Draco barely registered what was happening. He was slipping back into his memories once again.

**Review Please! I need to know how people feel about this story!**


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: Not my characters. Don't sue.

A/N: I was unhappy with chapter six, so I deleted it completely. I only wanted to delete from fanfiction, but I forgot I don't have it on this computer. I was going to wait until I could get to my other computer, but then I decided to rewrite the whole thing and take the story in a slightly different direction. Hope you find this chapter better than the other chapter six.

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Draco was back in his cell, and his tormentor was approaching again. He tried to scream for help, but no sound would come out of his parched and bleeding mouth.

Suddenly, Draco felt hands clutching at his arms, hands that did not belong to _him_. The memory was jerked away from him. He found himself in another cell, but this one was well-lit and not meant for him. The hands helped him to his feet and led him outside.

Draco stood outside the cell with Harry. They stood in silence, Draco unable to speak and Harry unwilling to.

Finally, Harry broke the silence. "I'll take you back to your room."

After Harry left, Draco felt tears of shame coursing down his cheeks. Now they knew, and soon everyone would know. He had been tainted, and they would be disgusted with him.

Goosebumps covered his body and he began to retch at the memories of what had been done to him. He sank to the floor in the middle of the empty hospital wing.

He jumped when he heard a soft knocking on the door. He slowly got to his feet and went to answer it. Harry and the girl…_Hermione?_...were on the other side.

He felt his cheeks go red with shame and turned from them.

Again, uncomfortable silence filled the room. This time it was Hermione to shut out the deafening noiselessness with the careful comment, "Are you alright Draco?"

Draco nodded in response, his back still to them.

Harry spoke next. "I'm sorry." At this Draco turned around, unsure of what Harry meant.

Harry continued, "If I had known what that monster did to you, I never would have let you anywhere near him."

Draco searched around for a quill and some parchment.

_Why is he here?_

Hermione answered, "He was captured in the same raid where we rescued you."

_But why is he here?_

This time Harry answered, "Because Hermione is the only who can be spared who can get into his mind."

_Get into his mind?_

Hermione took the reins of the conversation once more, "I'm using a branch of magic called Legilimency, the power to extract emotions and memories from other people's minds. I can also see when other people are lying. Except of course when a person is a skilled Occlumens. Occlumency is the defensive counterpart to Legilimency. The skilled Occlumens can block his or her mind against magical intrusion. Does any on this sound familiar?"

She had given Draco so much information in a short amount of time that the introduction of a question almost went unnoticed. He didn't recognize anything she was saying, so he shook his head.

Harry spoke next, "Wormtail has basic Occlumency skills, but Hermione has a Legilimency skill of her own. She can break through a person's barriers. It just takes time."

Draco nodded slowly, absorbing the information. He needed to start learning things, and perhaps something might jog his memory.

"We just wanted to make sure you were okay. We need to go back now, I haven't gotten anything from him yet, but it's only been a few days." With that Hermione left the room.

Harry stood at the door, his hand on the door knob, looking as if he wanted to say something but was unsure of how to phrase it. Finally he spoke.

"Draco, I don't know what you've been through, and I couldn't even imagine. But I do know you were hurt, and I want you to know I won't ever let anyone hurt you again."

He turned to Draco. "Do you understand? You are safe with me."

Draco nodded, a small smile crept onto his face. They weren't ashamed of him. Now if only he could not be ashamed of himself.

Harry gave Draco a half smile before exiting the room.

Draco was tired. He hadn't been doing much but sleeping, however, the mental strains he was going through proved to be too much for him. He quickly changed into pajamas and settled into bed. For the first time in a long time, he felt at peace. That feeling did not last long.

He fell asleep, and, as often happens when one sleeps, he began to dream.

_It's dark, so dark he thinks he is back in his cell. A small light starts in the distance, and grows brighter. He can see, and with this sight, he almost wishes he were in his cell. At least he knew what to expect in there._

_He is surrounded by cloaked and masked figures. He can feel their amusement and disgust. They perceive him as weak._

_"You will kill." The words are being repeated around him. They are a sickening mantra, an order he will fulfill, whatever the cost. _

_He feels a caress on the back of his neck. The figures around him start to spin, until they blend together to form the walls of his cell. _

_He is standing in the middle. Chains from the ceiling lower to snake themselves around his wrist, an event he is familiar with. This is how the executioner always worked. This time however, she is not the one with him in his cell. _He _is there, and Draco shudders. At least this time he has clothes. He is still in his pajamas. Tears start to flood down Draco's face as he realizes he is not in a dream. He has just been caught again. _

_He feels the presence of a figure behind him. Arms circle around his torso, but they are not the arms of a bloated and disgusting man. They are slender, pale. The hands begin to unbutton his shirt. Such delicate hands, quite unlike his mutilated ones. _

_The figure stops and Draco feels warm breath on his hear. The figure whispers, "You deserve what will happen to you." Harry. It's Harry's voice. Again, the words are repeated over and over, and again, the scene changes. He is standing in a high tower. It is night. He cannot name where he is, but he knows this place. It is a place that scares him. Green light surrounds everything._

Draco woke to the sound of his own screams.

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A/N: It's a little shorter than the other chapter six, but I like this one better. Do you? And if you didn't read the other chapter six, don't worry, just let me know how you felt about this chapter! 


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: So, with the new chapter six, the story is going in a completely different place…I think. Oh, this contains mild, and I mean _mild_, slashiness. I thought I would let my readers know, not that it really matters. If you got through the first three chapters, this will be nothing!

Disclaimer: Not my characters.

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Draco's screams reverberated throughout the hospital wing. And they stopped abruptly. Draco was sitting upright in his bed, sweat pouring down his back. He tried to make a noise again, call out for help, but nothing came out. He was silenced yet again.

The sound of footsteps racing towards his room reminded him of his nightly visitor, but these were different. They were hurried.

The door opened quickly, and Harry rushed over to his side, a questioning look in his eye.

"Draco, were you just screaming?"

He nodded. His body was shaking. Draco reached over to grab what he needed to write. Harry muttered "lumos" and a soft glow enveloped them both.

_I still cannot speak. I was dreaming and…_ Draco couldn't write anymore. He couldn't hold on to the quill. He was scared, so incredibly scared. He would close his eyes and all he would see was blinding green light. That light terrified him more than the monster in the dungeons. And he didn't have the slightest idea why.

Harry placed his hand on Draco's shoulder, but removed it when Draco flinched. Draco remembered it was Harry in his dream, not _him_. He shuddered at the way his dream self felt when he knew Harry's hands were on him. He felt sick that he was in the place where he was tortured, but he also felt something else when he knew the torture would come from Harry. That was what scared him.

"I'm sorry," Harry whispered. Draco felt ashamed of his thoughts. "I know what you've been through, and I should know better."

Draco shook his head, trying to convey that Harry had done nothing wrong. Harry smiled slightly; relief was obvious in his face. Draco reached out and grasped Harry's hand. Harry leaned in towards Draco, his lips only inches from Draco's. Draco felt his breath quicken. His face reddened slightly from embarrassment, and even a little shame. He wanted Harry to keep moving forward.

Hermione burst through the door, and Harry jerked back.

"Someone said Draco was screaming! Is everything okay?" Hermione was out of breath, as if she ran the whole way.

Draco nodded, his face turned to her. She must have realized she interrupted something because she let out a simple "oh" before exiting the room as quickly as she had entered.

Draco couldn't look Harry in the eye. He didn't know how to handle what he was feeling. He couldn't remember if he had ever felt anything like this before. He didn't even know if it was possible to want what he wanted without even knowing the person he wanted it from! He put his head in his hands: this was too much.

"Wanna talk about it?" Harry whispered gently.

Draco glared at him, picked up his quill and wrote, _Talk?_

Harry let out a small chuckle, "Okay, wanna write about it?"

Draco shook his head. He just wanted to forget. Not that he had that much to remember. He wanted to forget his nightmares and remember who he was. He raised his head and a single tear fell down his cheek. He quickly wiped it away, hoping that Harry wouldn't have seen it. Harry did.

Soon, more tears were failing. Harry sat on the bed next to Draco and took him in his arms as Draco silently began to sob once again. He hated not knowing who he was. Yes, he knew his name was Draco Malfoy. He knew who Voldemort was; he knew his father hated him. And he knew he needed to be punished, punished for some heinous crime that he didn't remember committing.

His tears stopped, but Harry didn't release him. Draco shuddered slightly as Harry's hands stroked his back. At his shiver, Harry held him tighter.

They were lying on Draco's bed, Harry at Draco's back, and for once, Draco was not sickened by the warmth he felt against him.

Draco didn't remember falling asleep, but it was dark when he woke. Harry was still asleep, his even breathing quiet and soft.

Draco eased himself out of Harry's arms, suddenly feeling restless. His dream, nightmare, was still vividly in his mind. He thought back to it. The tower…the tower looked like where he was! The stones were the same. If he could just find it, maybe he could find something about himself; perhaps even remember who he was.

Draco was smiling manically. He was going to find that tower, and that tower was going to give him answers.

One thing seemed to hinder Draco in his endeavor: the floor was cold and he couldn't find his socks. He couldn't remember even taking them off. Draco was about to begin searching for them, when Harry stirred. Draco quickly realized he was just stalling. For some reason, he didn't want Harry knowing what he was doing. He felt as if this were something he needed to do on his own.

He tiptoed out of the room, his bare feet not making any noise as he crept closer to the door, praying it would not squeak as he opened it. Luck was on his side.

He had no idea where he was going, so he decided to wander. He was told that his memory would come back abruptly; he just needed to be around things that were familiar. Apparently he had gone to school here, so the familiarity thing shouldn't have been easy. However, he did not recognize anything. He went up and down corridors, climbing staircases when he could. The tower was high, so it made sense to him to go up.

As he was climbing one such staircase, it jerked ever so slightly before it began to move. Draco held on for dear life. He had no idea what was happening and yet…. Vague and faint images began flashing before his mind. He had been on this moving staircase before.

The images kept coming, and while he thought he recognized them, they were a jumbled mess inside his head. The staircase stopped at a new landing, and Draco got off and began to walk, not paying attention to where he was going. He was concentrating too much on making sense of what he was seeing in his mind to pay attention to where his feet where leading him. His mind may not remember the tower, but his feet did, and they were bringing him to the place of his nightmares.

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A/N: I know, it's a bit of a cliffhanger. However, there are only about two chapters left. Perhaps. I have a vague idea where this will go, it's just a matter of getting it there. Anyway. Like it? Hate it? Let me know! 


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I sometimes feel silly for putting one of these before every chapter…not my characters.

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Draco kept going up. He could barely see what was in front of his face, because he was too busy inside his own mind. He was practically running now, his feet carrying him to the place he needed to go. 

Draco climbed up another flight of spiral stairs, pushed open a door, and was out in the night air. He was breathing heavily, trying to make sense of the images flashing before his eyes. He fell to his knees, breathing heavily, and put his head in his hands. Memories were coming back so fast now.

He did hate Harry.

He could remember it now. Remember hexes and curses, insults and fights.

He remembered this tower, the astronomy tower. The Dark Mark overhead.

Dumbledore.

"Dumbledore." His voice was raspy and harsh from lack of use. It was the first word he has spoken in a long time.

Dumbledore was dead because of him. He remembered his thoughts from when he was in his father's dungeon, thoughts about how Dumbledore was respected, how people loved him and followed him because he cared for them. Voldemort ruled through fear. Dumbledore could have saved the world, and Draco had killed him. It didn't matter that he hadn't held the wand; guilt was coursing through his veins.

Tears began to fall, making tracks along his skin. They turned to shaking sobs. He didn't want to remember anymore, things were better when he didn't know.

He didn't want to hate Harry.

But the feelings were remembered. He didn't want to hate, or be a killer.

He tried to calm himself down. He slowly got to his feet, gasping with the effort of stopping his tears. His feet had fallen asleep. He began to stamp his feet against the ground in an attempt to get the blood flowing. He had stopped crying, and was now ashamed of his tears. He started mumbling beneath his breath, slowly getting louder as he got used to using his voice again.

He still felt so incredibly guilty. He was the one who found the broken vanishing cabinet. He was the one who fixed it so Death Eaters could get in. He was the one who was responsible for death of the most respected man in the wizarding world.

He voiced his guilt aloud.

He walked to the edge of the astronomy tower, his eyes sweeping the grounds of Hogwarts. He was still slightly stamping his feet, and the pins and needles feeling was fading. He slowly stopped his movements and his musing and therefore heard the heavy breathing of someone who was just behind him. He heard too late, however. The next instant a sweaty palm clamped over his mouth and an arm encircled his torso.

"Drakey. You got your voice back. How nice. Now I get to hear you scream."

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A/N: I'm so sorry…I just wanted to get something out before spring break! Don't hate me please! 

Review? That would be wonderful!


	9. Chapter 9

The sweaty palm is removed from across Draco's mouth and moves down to his neck. The hand is gentle, sickeningly so. Draco lets out a whimper of fear and the hand tightens. The other hand that was around his torso slowly begins to move lower.

Draco cannot move. He wants to move, to run away, but his body won't let him. He is not under any spell; he has just been conditioned not to move. He starts to gasp. He can no longer breathe.

_He _begins to laugh softly and whispers in Draco's ear, "We can't have that now can we?" His breath is hot against Draco's ear. Faster than Draco would have expected the hand around his throat grabs his arm and twists it back, and Draco emits a sharp yelp of pain. He didn't want to make any noise. _He _wanted screams, and Draco did not want to give them. Draco's arm is twisted further, it's excruciating. He bites on his lower lip to keep from screaming. Not even when the coppery taste of blood fills his mouth does he make any noise.

Abruptly he is spun around and pushed against the door leading back into the castle. Foul smelling breathe is filling his nostrils as a pink tongue slowly licks the blood from his lips.

Draco starts to struggle. The hands holding him tighten their grip. One hand in particular is strong, too strong. It shines in the moonlight, deadly silver. The hand had been around Draco's waist, but now it takes the place of the other hand at Draco's neck. Draco lifts his own hands, trying to scratch out the lust filled eyes. The silver hand moves to grab both his wrists, pinning them together over his head.

Draco tries to use his feet, he is kicking and twisting, trying to make any sort of contact with the thing before him. He hears growls and hisses, and then his vision goes blurry and everything is spinning as his head makes contact with the wall.

He is disoriented, dizzy. He can't focus. He can feel blood dripping down his neck. He is vaguely aware of a hand caressing his bloody hair. He blinks several times and tries to quash the nauseous feeling in his stomach. His vision goes dark for a second, and it takes him a few more to realize it was his shirt blocking out the light of the moon. He was only in a t-shirt before, but goose bumps immediately rise on his arms. He shivers and tries to wrap his arms around himself for warmth, but he is stopped.

His back is still to the wall. He hasn't lost consciousness, but he's not far from it. He can't think straight. He knows something bad is going to happen, but he can't find the will or strength to fight it.

He looks into the night air, the stars are pulsing. He takes in a few deep breaths. The cold air enters his lungs and clears his mind. He is now aware of the wandering hands and tongue that had taken advantage of his disorientation to explore lean muscle and smooth skin.

Draco makes no move to show he is recovering. He now bites the inside of his cheek, again tasting his own blood, and tries to keep his body in its relaxed state. He wanted to catch his attacker of guard. _He _is gentle for now, but Draco knows it can change in an instant.

He wants to wait, to be sure he can get away. But the sound of trousers unzipping reverberated into the night. It was slow amd deliberate, but it meant that one hand was occupied. Draco clenched his fist and was reward with a loud smack. His attacker looked at him, shock clear on his face. Draco made like he was going to hit again, and as _he _moved to block it, Draco made a run for the door.

It was locked.

Draco vainly jiggled the handle, as if the door would open with the sheer force of his will alone. He was jerked away and thrown to the tower floor. The stones were uneven, and the corner of one stabbed into his back, breaking the skin. Memories of his prison cell flooded his mind. He had almost forgotten when his forgotten past returned.

And then _he_ was atop Draco, pulling at the loose cotton pants Draco had worn to bed. Draco's struggles only seemed to excite. He was kicking and squirming; his arms were flailing. _He _only had two arms, and was having difficulty trying to hold Draco, undress Draco, and unzip his pants the rest of the way. Draco put one of his thumbs in his attacker's eye, who in return lowered his head to bit into Draco's neck, tearing at the flesh where neck met shoulder. Draco screamed, and this time he didn't stop.

Draco was scared, but also angry. His struggles grew more violent and erratic, but they didn't stop his pants from being ripped off, along with the thin boxers underneath. He was naked. It made him feel vulnerable, as if he was done for. And that made him angry. When he was locked up, he couldn't remember who he was. He sometimes even thought he deserved what he got. But now he remembered. He remembered he was Draco Malfoy, and he didn't take shit from anyone, let alone pathetic bootlickers of Voldemort.

His screams turned from pain and fear, to rage. _He _was touching him, too preoccupied to notice the change. The silver hand was pressed to Draco's chest, and the other was…busy. All of Draco's emotions: fear, anger, guilt, shame, rolled into one. With a final yell, he raised his right hand, a hand that was already bleeding at the knuckles. And he made one last punch. And he contacted flesh. His balled fist landed smack in the middle of _his_ ugly, bloated face. He could feel the cartilage of the nose break, and shards of it entered into the brain. The body fell on him, and they were so close, Draco could _feel_ the life leaving. Blood seeped from the mess that was once a face. Blood and bits of bone were falling onto his bare chest.

He didn't know how long he lay there, but the blood was cold and had congealed. He pushed the body off, and stood up. He looked around for his clothes, but the only thing not in shreds was his shirt. He sighed and tried to somehow tie it around his waist.

He let out a sigh, realizing he had no idea how to get out of the tower. The only way was the locked.

"Shit."

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A/N: Okay, probably only an epiloque left...maybe. Thank you so much my wonderful reviewers. They made me very happy. Also, those who put this story on Alerts or Faves. That made me happy to!!!! Anyways, the part with the nose breaking into the brain and feeling the life leave isn't mine. I know I didn't come up with that on my own. I read it somewhere, I just can't remember. Oh well. Until next time! 


	10. Chapter 10

It was getting colder. Draco could now see his breath, and his t-shirt tied around his waist was not much to keep him warm. The dew was turning to frost. It was unnatural and strange. It was summer! Why was it so cold? Draco went back to the door and vainly tried to open it again. He pounded and started yelling, desperate for someone to open the door.

No one came.

An idea slowly started forming in Draco's mind, and he really didn't like it. He walked over to the body. Most of the clothes were free of blood. he grimaced as he turned it over. The face was a bloody, twisted mess. He gaze traveled down to the pants. They would be much too big in the waist, and too short in length, but Draco was getting desperate. They were half off the body already, so Draco grabbed the hem near the ankles and began to pull. He ended up only dragging the body closer to him. Swallowing hard and steeling himself, he reached up slowly to the top of the pants and pulled them off.

He had to stop several times and hold in his gagging. Finally the pants were off the body. he untied his shirt from around his waist and slipped it on. The he held his breath as he slid into the pants. As he predicted they were too big, and also too short. He felt dirty wearing them. He next looked over the tower edge. He needed to find a way down.

He looked back at the body. Wand! He thought, mentally slapping himself. But searching for a wand would mean touching the body again. Draco didn't think he could do it. He turned his attention back to the edge and peered over, his palms pressing into the stones. They were fairly uneven stones. Perhaps he could climb down? Draco laughed at the aburdity of the idea. And then he reconsidered. He felt like he needed to get out of this place now, or something terrible was going to happen. The overwhelming desire to get out as soon as possible overcame him, and he swung his leg over the edge.

Fortunately for him, the castle had plenty of parapets and arcading so he had places to hold on to and rest when needed. He still couldn't believe he was climbing down the tallest tower in Hogwarts. The wind was battering him, and several times he thought he would lose his grip.

It seemed like hours before he reached the ground. The sun was just rising. He thought he would be exhausted, drained, but for some reason, he had a restless energy coursing within him. It was as if there was something he needed to do, but could not remember what it was. He started making his way around the grounds so he could get back into the castle. When he was on the western side, he stopped abruptly. He had thought he was free when he left that body on the tower. But he wasn't. His father was still out there, and so was the executioner. And Voldemort. They did this to him, and they needed to pay. So with no preparation, no wand, and no shoes, he made for the edge of Hogwarts grounds.

Draco was in a zone. He had a goal, a purpose, and he was going to see it through. With the return of his memory, he could think more clearly than ever before. He needed to get to the manor. It was a bit of a walk to Hogsmeade, but he could use a fireplace once he got there; he couldn't risk going back to Hogwarts and having someone stop him. He had no idea what happened to his wand, but that thought was furthest from Draco's mind at the moment. He had something he needed to do.

The sun rose higher in the sky. It was fully risen by the time he reached Hogsmeade. Some shops were beginning to open; the town was beginning to stire. A few people saw him. No one offered help, and most turned quickly pretending they did not actually see him. Draco smirked. He found their reactions to be highly amusing.

He could remember a place that had public floo. He made his way there now, no caring that his eyes were giving off a feverish and uncanny gleam in the new sun. The place was closed, but that was not about to stop Draco. Over the past year he had started to get a knack for wandless magic, and in his anger and determination, opening a lock was no problem. Except the got carried away and nearly blew the entire front of the store off. He stepped through and made his way to the fireplace, using his mind to start a fire as he walked towards it. Grabbing a handful of floo powerder as he walked, he threw it into the fireplace, walked in, and shouted "Malfoy Manor" all without breaking stride. He kept in mind a certain room, knowing it was the only one he could travel too. Not many knew about it.

He stumbled out of the drawing room fireplace, finally remembering that someone might be there. He hadn't thought about that before he left. He was extrememly lucky today, as the room was empty. It was still early in the day, and the drawing room was for afternoon entertaining. He doubted his parents did much formal entertaining anymore. He dusted himself off then listened. He crept towards the door. The house was still, yet a menacing presense could be felt eminating from deep within.

Draco silently opened the door and peered into the hallway. It was dark. He stepped out, fear beginning to course through his veins. He contemplated going back, but then remembered he had no more floo powder. He trapped himself here, so he had to finish what he started, in order to stay alive.

Before he could do what he came to do, he needed a wand. He should have no problem finding one in the manor. His mother rarely if ever used hers. And he knew where she kept it. Retrieving the wand was no problem, and now he had a job to do.

He buried his fear deep within himself, to the very core of his being. He surrounded his fear with anger, and hate, and made his way down to the dungeons. As he drew closer to them, the menacing presence he felt could now be heard. Screams of pain reverberated through his skull, mixing with memories of his own screams. Screams that were eventually torn from his body.

He enveloped himself in hatred now, and he could barely feel his fear. He crept down, having no difficulty staying in the shadows. He could now hear muffled voices, all male. Not what he was looking for, not yet at least. The executioner was going first.

It was strange, the weeks of being unable to speak seemed to have made him so quiet. His bare feet made no noise as went. His heart was pounding in his ears, and he quieted that too. His breathing was steady, slow. His anger and hatred were not the raging white hot heat of revenge, but rather ice cold and calculating. He was going to kill his tormentors.

He passed cell after cell. It seems the Death Eaters had recovered after the raid that rescued him. No one noticed him. He was a phantom. Perhaps the temperature dropped a few degrees in his wake, but who would notice that when the torture of muggles was making the blood boil in anticipation.

If it was possible, it grew darker. He was reaching the end. She was there, her room in the blackest section of the manor, her sleep serenaded by screams. Was she there now? Yes. Draco could feel her, feel her emptiness. She was void, void of humanity, of a soul. And Draco would put her out of her misery.

The door was unlocked. Of course. Who does she need to fear? Her room was just as dark and spare as the rest of the dungeon. She slept on a thin pallet on the floor. She was on her back. Her breathing was even and still. Draco stood and watched her breath. In. Out. In. Out. Then he caught it. The small hitch. The breath caught in her throat. In. Out. In. Out. She was only in a pretense of sleep. She knew someone was within her chambers.

Draco eased the door shut behind him and whispered a silencing spell. It wouldn't do to have company at the moment.

"Lumos," he whispered. He wanted to be able to see her when she died.

She finally opened her eyes and slowly sat up. His wand was trained on her now. She looked almost ghostly in the harsh light. Her wand was already in her hand. She slept with it clutched to her. She stood now. Draco almost wished he had killed her in her sleep. But he knew it wouldn't have been as satisfying as her consciously knowing her life was ending.

They stared at one another, each willing to let the other make the first move. And then it started.

"Everte Statum"

Draco was flown backwards, and had there been more space would have done a rather spectacular backflip. As it was, he flung into the wall and nearly landed on his head.

He quickly rose and fired of a spell of his own. The limited space made it nearly impossible to dodge any curse or spell. Shielding was of utmost importance. Not much time had passed, but both oponents were taking a mutual breather. It was nice to see she actually breathed air.

Draco began to finally think how he would kill her. Could he use the Killing Curse? Probably. He wanted her dead, and he wanted her to suffer. But the Killing Curse was too quick.

They began again. But Draco's mind wasn't entirely on the task before him. How would he kill her? The light jet of a missed curse reflected off something in the opposite corner. A knife. It would be rather fitting. After all, she used muggle torture on him, why should he refrain from killing her with a muggle device? Now the only problem was getting the knife, and stabbing her without her killing him first. A plan began to stir within his mind. Faint memories of a spell only whispered about. A spell considered to be folly to cast and pointless in its creation. A spell to block magic. It was ironic that a spell would stop more spells, but it could be effective in a situation where the opponent spellcaster was simply too powerful.

It didn't have an incantation. Instead, the power was focused through the will and need of the caster. It also did not need a wand. Which was good as Draco had just lost his. She grinned as she kicked his mother's wand away from him. The hate was still pulsing through Draco's veins, but he only allowed his inner core of fear to show. She advanced, savoring her perceived victory. It gave Draco the time to concentrate his thoughts. She raised her wand.

"Avada Kedevra!"

Nothing happened. It worked. But it also meant his silencing spell was gone. No matter, he would simply have to be quick. But the executioner was not beaten yet. She tossed her wand to the side, and advanced upon him. Draco let his cold fury build inside him. He would fight with anger and hatred, and he would kill her. Instead of cowering in the corner, waiting for her to approach, Draco threw himself at her, knocking her to the ground. He straddled her and began punching as hard as he could. Unfortunately, she knew how to get herself out of these situations, and threw him off of her. Right into the corner. He landed on his hands and knees, head bowed, as if in defeat already.

His hand reached for the knife, slowly, so she wouldn't see him grabbing it. He was too slow. She grabbed him by his hair and dragged him to his feet. He elbowed her in the stomach. Her grip only tightened. His hair was coming out, ripped from his scalp. Draco was twisting and squirming, trying to land a hit anywhere on her body, but she was too strong. She began to move her hands down to his neck, and that is when he seized the opportunity. He grabbed her wrist and twisted down, his anger making him stronger. The sound of bone snapping echoed throughout the tiny chamber. A blow to her jaw knocked her off her feet. Draco lunged at the knife. It was old and rusty, still bearing the stains of old blood that had not yet flaked off. He hoped it was sharp enough.

He had barely grabbed the knife when she lunged at him. He turned just then, thrusting the knife out and up. It caught her in the middle of her chest, just missing her heart. She staggered back, gripping the hilt. The expression on her face did not change. She did not show pain or shock.

Draco had chosen the muggle way to kill her so he could see the life slowly leaving her. He hoped it took a long time. Her eyes where open, occasionally blinking. He wanted her to keep them open, so he could watch the fade, watcht the life go. She fell back, crashing into the wall before sliding down it. She pulled the knife out, and the dark stain of blood was barely noticable on her black robes. Draco released his spell containing magic, and bent down to pick his own wand up.

"Lumos."

Now he could really see her eyes. He watched, sitting down on the floor across from her. Minutes passed before Draco realized she was already dead. Her eyes were the same. They were the same in death as they had been in life. If Draco had not been sitting, he would have fallen to the floor. She was already dead before he killed her, he realized. Not literally, but she was so twisted and broken, that humanity left her. Was she this way by choice? by birth? Or was she the way she was because of what was done to her. What sort of training did it take to become an executioner?

What had been done to her?

Draco looked around her small room. It contained only her sleeping pallet. It was a far cry from the luxurious manor. Draco's anger left him, and he began to weep. And for the first time in weeks, it wasn't for himself. It was for the twisted shell of a human being that died before him.


End file.
